


machinate

by abbykate



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Reichenbach, Sherlock gets introspective, he's always liked John's hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:44:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbykate/pseuds/abbykate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mach·i·nate (v.)</p>
<p>to contrive or plot, especially artfully or with evil purpose</p>
            </blockquote>





	machinate

You fell asleep at six past four on

Our Last Morning.

Regrettably, you were not at home.

You were not in your bed

or my bed

or on our couch

or even in the back of a cab,

the flat of your zygomatic against the curve of my humerus.

You were perched on a simple workbench,

legs bent just so to keep your footing.  

Your forehead resting against your folded arms.

You couldn’t keep your head up anymore.

Too many hours of staring into Molly’s lab

looking for a solution.

Waiting for me to find one.

You didn’t know I’d already found it.

You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you.

Your frantic searching,

your attempts at levity,

your low-slung growls and

your beautiful rage,

your drooping eyes, and

your steady snore

– they were all for me.

Should I have told you?

Should I have woken you?

No.

To both.

You were tired. You needed it.

You had a rough day ahead.

 

I couldn’t stop watching you.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t stared at you before – I had.

I don’t think you ever noticed.

Or if you did notice, you never said anything.

It’s just another thing that makes you noble. 

It took me your entire nap to solve it

 – the last piece that had to fall

 – how to make you go.

He found my weak point.

And you’re it.

 

My hate tastes like ice and smoke;

for him, for this, for myself.

Will you ever be able to think of me

and not hate me?  

No.

To both.

Your breathing was slow.

I liked listening to it.

It made me smile before I could stop.

But you didn’t see.

So I smiled at you, openly, normally,

while you weren’t looking,

while you were asleep

in the lab

in the morning.

 

Our last look – I took it.

Committed it all –

Your mouth,

your mouth,

your mouth,

Your nose.

Your ears.

Your hands.

Your hair. I’ve always liked your hair.

 

Do this for me:

When I say it later, hear me. Listen.

Because I won’t say it exactly, but

I’ll say it just the same.

I’ll say I’ll miss you.

I’ll say I’d rather die.

I’ll say I have to.

I’ll say there was no other way.

I’ll say I love you and have loved you and will love you –

all of you, each fibre and molecule

and emotion and eyelash of you –

But you are whole

and safe

and will survive this.

Survive me.

You’ll go on and we will not.

There is no alternative.

I love you.

“Goodbye, John.”


End file.
